


That Old Familiar Feeling

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Morphology [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Community: hannibalkink, Desk Sex, Flashbacks, M/M, Oral Sex, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Give me a Hannibal who genuinely wants to stop killing, who wants to live his life with Will in totally-not-murdering bliss, complete with white-picket fence and 2.5 kids, if he has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Old Familiar Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/2676.html?thread=4680052#cmt4680052 This is a cleaned up version that removes the sort of errors that occur as a result of writing on a smart phone at 2 am.

It was happening with less frequency, yet now when it chose to manifest the intensity of the sensation would cut away at his reality with the cold precision of a scalpel through flesh. The last time resulted in several days of unrelenting unease, as if even the imagining of the thing would undo the years of careful, deliberate restraint. It eventually subsided and he once again felt the pieces of his life click together in ways that made comforting sense.

That had been one year and forty-seven days ago. A new record. He felt himself flush momentarily with embarrassment at the secret hope ( _crushed_ ) he had been harboring somewhere inside; that it had been the last time. Would there ever be a last time, or was it always to be this way?

There was sweat on his palms—the thought of it!—and the sound of his own blood pumping was drowning out the world around him. The easiest thing in the world. It would be. He felt it with the certainty of gravity. No one would miss her, truly. She was the personification of loathsome, therefore the idea of others feeling pain over her absence in the world was absurd. In fact, to not kill her would be a disservice to society.

Beside him, Will stirred in his chair, momentarily turning to make eye contact with Hannibal. The widening of Will’s eyes and flare of his nostrils struck Hannibal to the quick. For a gut churning moment he thought he might have given voice to his desires, but then realized Will was perhaps feeling some of what Hannibal himself was currently experiencing. Although, he doubted Will was attempting to calm himself by imagining eviscerating the woman. Then again...

“Thanks for your time. You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

The fact that Will was able to actually sound polite while saying these words proved to Hannibal, once again, that he was the stronger of the two. The better man. For his part, he managed a nod and parting grunt before they left the office.

They didn’t speak as they walked. Hannibal imagined the sound of their footsteps to be the futile, muffled sounds of Ms. Lascome’s fists beating against the lid of a coffin as Hannibal and Will joyfully buried her with shovelful after delightful shovelful of dirt.

But that was too bloodless an end to ever satisfy the open, gnawing hunger he felt. No one would need ever know and he would make certain no part of her remained to be found. Her tongue would be first and he would make her watch as he prepared and enjoyed the offensive muscular hydrostat with leeks and a horseradish cream sauce. How long could he keep her alive to harvest from before the meat would need to be tainted with the necessary tang of antibiotics to ward off infection?

“I think I want to murder her,” Will said once they were in the car, doors shut behind them and the world temporarily at bay. The words trembled as they spilled forth, testament to his anger. Hannibal hadn’t heard that particular acerbic, helpless tone since the Ripper days. “And I think the worst fucking part of it is that... damn it, Hannibal, between the two of us we could _get away with it_.”

And then there was no choice but to kiss Will, practically pull him from the driver’s seat to crush their mouths together, wind his fingers possessively through the man’s tangled curls and just... devour. After all, this was why. This beautiful, dangerous man was why the years of denying himself the freedom and bliss of the kill was worth it.

“Hard to prove anything without a body,” Hannibal whispered hotly against Will’s mouth. The other man’s anger dissolved into throaty laughter as he pushed his face against Hannibal’s neck.

“They never would,” he gasped, rocking back into his seat with tears of laughter in the corners of his eyes. “Find the body,” he added after a thoughtful moment, his voice strong with conviction. He faced forward, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

“Perhaps we should consider,” Hannibal began, but Will interrupted him before he could condemn himself with words.

“You can’t open a conversation with ‘I wouldn’t want you to think this has anything to do with your choices’ and not expect us to think you’re judging our so called _choices_!”

“Will,” Hannibal murmured, some of his own anger dissolving in the face of Will’s pain. He studied the man’s clenched jaw and wounded posture and wanted to make it all better. There was a time when the sight of another in pain or discomfort would have been a mere curiosity, or at best a source of delight to him, but that was before Will. It was cliche, but if someone had told him that he’d find himself setting aside the comfort, rapture, and satiety of the kill for his current situation, he would have prescribed them some rather heavy anti-psychotics.

Yet here he was, hand on Will’s thigh squeezing reassuredly as the other man buckled up and started the car. They were quiet during the short drive, Will worrying at his lower lip with his teeth, Hannibal watching hungrily.

Strange to think it had been almost seven years since he last tasted human flesh. He thought he might go mad during the first year. Even the non-human delicacies he had once savored tasted like ashes in his mouth as the weight of the knowledge of what he could never again taste crushed him into a new and confusing version of himself.

That had at least been counterbalanced with the challenge of Will. The energies once put to grisly use were refocused and marshalled for the task of seducing the empath.

He studied Will's profile and momentarily lost himself in a memory. That first time, in his office, Will crushing fistfuls of expensive fabric in his hands and Hannibal finding himself not minding in the least. He could almost feel the rungs of the loft ladder digging into his back and Will ravaging his mouth as he ground wantonly against Hannbal.

"For once, just let me see you lose control," Will had begged, hand sliding across the growing bulge in Hannibal's pants. And then he had looked Hannibal in the eyes unflinchingly, but Hannibal could smell the fear on the other man. Fear and desire.

"If it pleases you," he had said, and something had shifted inside his mind, tumblers falling into place. He had meant the words. For the very first time he fully understood what he was actually undertaking. A  chance, and perhaps a slim one at that, of a real relationship. That this wasn't a temporary withdrawal from his art until Will began to bore him or the urges grew too uncomfortable. This was a genuine desire to become a better man for Will.

He maintained eye contact with Will as he returned the kiss, slow and deliberate. He allowed Will to witness something so rare, that Hannibal himself had forgotten what it was like. He set aside the mask and showed Will what it meant when Hannibal Lecter lost control.

It was strange in the days following how he would find himself no longer focused on a patient speaking to him, his eyes unable to look away from the desk, blood rushing to his groin.

He hadn't thought himself capable of making such vulnerable, desperate noises, but there was no point being self conscious when he had already greedily sucked Will's cock into his mouth.

Will had cried out as if Hannibal had cut him open and exposed him, fighting his urge to force himself deeper into the warm, wet, hungry mouth enveloping him. One hand gripped Hannibal's shoulder as if it were the only thing keeping him from flying apart at the seams, while the other trembled as he wound his fingers through Hannibal's formerly tidy hair.

Hannibal had slurped unashamedly, rejoicing in the heady abandon of it all, the power he wielded with his mouth, and the knowledge that his intentions were good. And when Will came in great shuddering bursts, crying out like a wounded thing, Hannibal knew he had made the right choice, had found something as equally exquisite as his previous passion.

Where once he warmed at the secret knowledge that he was working side by side with the very people desperate to end him, he could now revel in the secret knowledge of Will. The taste and feel of him, the way his ragged moans of pleasure had echoed through Hannibal's office, drowning out the sounds of Chopin. For just a moment he had found himself wondering if the rest of the afternoon had been clear, or if there was someone in the waiting room listening on in confusion as Will Graham was thoroughly fucked atop Hannibal's desk.

He writhed beneath Hannibal, as if worried Hannibal might stop. A strange smile found its way to Will's face. "Should I be concerned or thankful that you had lube in your desk?" he asked, voice trembling in time with the determined thrusts of Hannibal's cock.

"Let us say I was hopeful," had been his reply, and then he was coming, hard and with great enthusiasm, brought over the edge by the feeling of Will's body clamping down on him as he laughed.

They had shifted positions and he had kissed Will over and over, almost bruising his mouth with the force of it as their hands worked together in perfect harmony, stroking Will until he was once again coming.

They had begun by splitting the time between their respective homes, but eventually Hannibal found himself wanting to sell his house. It was hard preparing food in the kitchen where once he crafted masterpieces to feed to his trusting guests.

He disliked the nights Will slept away from him. Those evenings he always dreamt of Will's eyes brimming with pain and regret instead of pleasure, as Hannibal savagely cut him open. He wouldn't be able to sleep again until he knew it was just a dream and Will was unharmed.

Things were better when they moved into a place suited to each of them, although he still had his moments of surreality as they began building a life together.

"Are you staying in the car?"

Hannibal started in his seat, caught in the act of daydreaming. Through the windshield he could see what they had come for and was once again overwhelmed by direction his life had taken.

He watched as Will was almost knocked over by an excited six year old. "Dada," she exclaimed, and then Hannibal was scooping her up into his arms, planting a kiss firmly on her cheek.

He and Will shared a glance as Mischa began telling them about her day with the unbridled enthusiasm only a child can maintain for long periods of time. He felt himself growing calmer, feeling the soft press of her curls against his face, yet then remembered Lascome’s comments and wanted to howl with anger.

That anyone could criticize his precious Mischa's drawings, go so far as to express concern over her insistence that she only have to draw dogs or her fathers, as if this was a bad thing... And what sort of world did they live in where a teacher expressed concern over a child's cleanliness? The sheer, unmitigated gall of the woman!

"Dada, grinding your teeth when someone is talking is rude," Mischa said, disrupting his musings.

"Yes it is, terribly rude of me" he conceded as they walked to the car together. Alas, he would not murder his daughter's teacher, even if he could get away with it. He would once again will the dark urge away, for he had something better than the fleeting joy of the kill. "What's to be done about that?"

**Author's Note:**

> I had such fun with this that it won't leave me alone. Future fics to follow, exploring how they wound up in this situation, how much Will really knows, etc.
> 
> The amazing [FeoplePeel]() made a cover for this fic!!! You should [put your eyes all over it](http://feoplepeel.tumblr.com/post/86972285810/that-old-familiar-feeling-by-finely-honed-part).


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